#i liked it very much. very rotten to the core.
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
so I had some thoughts on the burnout post but didn't want to hijack it so this is just my own rambling attempt to process the feelings I've been struggling with for two days which obviously not everyone wants to read, thus my putting a read more
I've been crying off and on for the past couple days which is really no surprise, and I've been trying to avoid political news and political posts. In fact, after this I plan to hide the political tags for a while, heavily curate my Reddit experience, and then do I don't even know what with all my new free time
because I don't talk about it a lot here, this is my fandom space, my casual space, and I'll sometimes post about personal stuff but almost never politics, but I am actually very political. 'member of multiple political mailing lists, have marched in many protests, write postcards to swing state voters' political. and I want to talk a little about why this defeat feels different. because this crushed me in a way that 2016 did not.
the thing is. over the past few days I've seen a lot of people talking about how if you didn't realize Trump was going to win, you live in a bubble. and I think to a certain extent that's true. we all have our little echo chambers. but for me, at least, and a lot of the people I know, it wasn't just that. it was this core certainty that Trump would not win, could not win, because surely our country wasn't like that. surely our fellow Americans were not like that. it wasn't about competency or about policy. it was about basic human decency. and that's what I feel like we lost. not an election. but any remaining belief we had that people are basically good.
because it seems they're not. at least not around here. the cold hard fact at the end of the day is that the majority of our country looked at a senile, racist, fascist criminal grifter [eta: how could I forget rapist in that description?] and either actively wanted him to hold the highest office in the land, or just didn't care whether or not he did. they know exactly what he's going to do, and they're fine with it. and that hurts so much that it is nearly unbearable.
how do you move on from that? how do you cope with the fact that there's something so deeply rotten at the core of your fellow man? how do you deal with that? how do you fight back?
I am full of so much grief that I literally don't know where to put it.
so I don't want to fight anymore. I'm tired. I'm nauseated. I'm angry. But most of all, I'm sad. I can't do it right now. and I think that's probably okay. I think in six weeks or six months I'll feel differently. but right now I just can't do it. and I think the most important thing really can be to take a step back and focus on something else. because I know these feelings are not productive. I know that there are still good people out there and there are still things worth fighting for. but right now, all I feel is this aching chasm where my faith in humanity used to be.
so I'm unplugging - not from fandom or tumblr, but from politics and news - for at least a little while. sometimes that's the most important thing to do if you want to still be able to get out of bed in the morning.
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
the implications of rhaenyra's and jace's conversationâŠ. the implication of not wanting to risk their own in battle⊠using those with blood "thinner" than their own as fodderâŠâŠâŠâŠ ohhhhhâŠâŠâŠâŠ
#i liked it very much. very rotten to the core.#house of the dragon#hotd#rhaenyra targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#ales.txt
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
đđđ
#the thing is I'm not proud of many things I've done. It's actually the exact opposite.#I kinda suck most of the time if I'm honest. but getting sober and doing it all on my own...#it's one of the only things I'm proud of when it comes to myself. sure.it's my third attempt but 1 year and 3 months...#it's the longest time I've ever managed to not try and deal with myself in a way that slowly but surely fucked me up in a very different way#I still struggle. some days are easier than others#but I'm still doing it.#being sober doesn't magically solve all my other issues but I don't spiral as much as I used to.#i don't think I'll ever be someone people can be around. which is like i don't blame people. i know how i am and how fucking difficult it is#to deal with that. the fear of abandonment that makes me push people away until they leave. the self-fulfilling prophesy of it all#the way i push and when i get the result i was expecting the immediate pull the fear and irrationality#the emotional disreggulation the self-pity#it's gotten better since i stopped drinking. less frequently and all that... but it's never gone not really#sometimes i think about the what could've beens.#what if my childhood went a little differently. what if my dad was there for me when i needed him. what if i wasn't me.#my ex best friend once told me that I'm to desperate to be saved. that nobody can do that anyway.#I'm not sure if I'd deserve it anyway. i have dreams in which I'm still me still dark and ugly and selfish and cruel at times#but i am trying i like to believe that i am already trying. i am. I'm just scared that it'll never be enough.#I'm not proud of many things but I'm 1 year and 3 months sober#only a few days and it's gonna be 1 year and 4 months#i didn't achieve much in my life but I'm here and i am trying every day i am trying and i hope on day it'll be enough#i hope one day i won't cause pain but build something good#sorry... I've just been thinking about it lately#because it is an achievement and i didnât let myself be proud of how far I've come#alex talks#I'm still scared that people will look at me differently when they know... sometimes i feel like they can see the my rotten core anyway#to delete
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Song of the Day: May 29
âEvil Like Meâ by Kristin Chenoweth & Dove Cameron for Disney's Descendants OS
#song of the day#time is fake! sometimes I'm awake and it's logical to assume that sometimes I'm asleep! and the days must pass but do I ever know?? nope#fuck I spent all day thinking today was the last day of the month and then it turns out it's not even Thursday#sang 'Evil Like Me' with Duncan at the dinner table while I ate the cabbage and I made this cabbage after the work not-a-bbq so#almost definitely that was today!#I fell asleep standing up in the shower again but the drain has been draining very slowly so when I woke up there was water above my ankles#if I flood our house with the water from my shower while I am actively standing in it and I don't notice because it's the only time I sleep#I'm going to shrink myself down and move in with the mice colonizing our neighbor's boat trailer#the mice will never know my shame. Duncan will put cheese sandwiches out in the alley for us and it will be more than I deserve#this is a really good song. very fun lyrical nonsense and also very fun musically to sing. love the idea of Kristin Chenoweth Maleficent#'I have tried my whole life long / to do the worst I can / clawed my way to victory / built my master plan#now the time has come my dear / for you to take your place / promise me you'll try to be / an absolute disgrace'#Nick really doesn't like this song for some unspecified reason--we've asked but he just gets kind of mad? like it should be obvious?#I think maybe he thinks they're making fun of people who sing about like. doing crimes? being bad???????????????#like honestly what could be more punk she's literally Maleficent but go off I guess#I dunno but if I were going to be mad about a Descendants song that I occasionally roam the house over-selling#it wouldn't be a Broadway-star-supported certified banger like 'Evil Like Me'#it'd be goofyass 'Rotten to the Core' where I'm playing four parts simultaneously and pitching my voice up and down like a rollercoaster#love that fucking song it's so dumb and it's so much fun and I get to stomp on the chorus bits
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
genuinely so angry and scared im shaking. how many other times this week this month this year have i been exposed without knowing it. do people even tell each other anymore. itâs just so grim. itâs so fucking grim
#purrs#delete later#covid19#i am fighting for my fucking life every day to stay safe and to keep the people around me some of whom are disabled / chronically ill /#immunocompromised / medically vulnerable safe. i am fucking fighting for my life. itâs already hard that i am usually one of two people in#any given room still wearing a mask let alone an n95 mask. hard and bad enough that we get looks for wearing masks and people think im crazy#for my life still being on hold and for my family still basically never going anywhere. ITS FUCKING WORSE that we are still very much in the#throes of all of it and we are in constant physical and quite frankly EXISTENTIAL danger not only of getting sick / becoming (more)#disabled / literally fucking dying but also returning to the absolute hell of lockdown which while important was psychologically damaging in#ways that are difficult to even articulate. like not only have we as a society decided to not give a shit about unpacking all of that and#healing from the trauma and assuming everyone went through the same thing when we very much did not and to just send everybody back to#school and work because đ€đ€đ€đ€đ€capitalismđ€đ€đ€đ€đ€ but we have ALSO decided to pretend like the freakish unceasing danger just doesnât exist#anymore and to get rid of every tool we had available to keep us safe or at minimum make people have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to#access them because đ€đ€đ€đ€đ€capitalismđ€đ€đ€đ€đ€ !!!!!!! im TIRED. im so fucking tired of it. i am so fucking exhausted and angry and scared. and i#HAVE the luxury and privilege of being able to afford n95 masks and covid tests and to be able to work a job that i can do remotely if i#need to and to not be disabled or immunocompromised. what makes me fucking furious is we decided to throw all the people who donât have#that access or privilege under the fucking bus and forget about them lol. but what do you expect from a country rotten to its core the way#it is lol. im fucking despondent. why are we living in an incinerator.#* the lockdown(s) werent just important they were necessary. and arguably we should have another one even though if we do i genuinely fear#for my mental health both during and afterwards and quite frankly before. im tired. i am grateful for the life i live which has resulted in#part from the different things that have happened because of the pandemic but i also so desperately wish this never happened and every day I#think about what life would be like if it hadnât happened. the grief of it all is unspeakably big.
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
well i finished the women (1936) by clare boothe luce. i did not like that as much as i was expecting.
#you wanna talk about how ppl act like all literature written by women is inherently feminist... brother#tales from diana#she has a genuine disgust for her own characters EXCEPT for mary. but choosing to get a divorce is still the greatest sin of her life#i love when im consuming 20th century entertainment and all the sudden i realize it's anti-divorce propaganda#the first act was alright but by the time i realized how it was going to end i was severely disappointed#it's not that i can't stand literature where basically all the characters are bad people. but the moral of the story is also bad#also boothe's stage directions were awful in how she described characters and scenes and just further illustrated how much she hated#the company of other women and thought she was so superior to all of them in her class basically.#all anyone ever told me about this story was that it had an all-female cast and i think a lot of boothe's storytelling methods#were really interesting in innovative in how she pulled that off.#but trust me. it does not pass the bechdel test lol#women are a bunch of catty gossips with no good judgment. men are cheating dogs and you should forgive them for it#even when they gallivant around town with their mistresses and go home and mistreat you. is what i learned from this play#a shame bc as far as her skill for dialogue and scene-setting it's really admirable.#but the soul of the play is rotten to the core. im so very let-down by this
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
"dragons plant no trees" gets thrown around a lot as fact, but i think the veracity of that claim is still up for debate in the books. because dany (like bran and jon and many others) is a narrative symbol of hope and rebirth within the series because of her connection to dragons and fire, not in spite of it. this is because dragons in asoiaf have a much more expansive narrative function than simply 'nuke metaphor'. the 'exclusively weapons of war' image they have acquired breaks down immediately if you recall that the first thing dany does with them is begin dismantling an unjust status quo. she rallies the unsullied at the gates of astapor with cries of dracarys! dracarys! freedom! <- dragons as a symbol of hope and freedom for the persecuted. and obviously they've been built up as an oppositional force against the others. we're told when the last dragon died summers became shorter. in that respect the dragons, or more specifically, fire which is warmth which is passionâvery much embodies life against the numbing, deadening threat of eternal winter that the others represent. but fire also consumes, which simultaneously makes dragons agents of destruction, or as adwd shows: the monsters who eat little girls and leave behind their bones. but when dany found herself chained to a false peace which effectively undid her cause in meereen, it was the dragon that rescued her and reignited her fire to fight backâwhich is to say that dragons represent a wealth of contradictions within the text and this is likely something grrm means to parallel with the others to some extent, by questioning their apparent narrative role as the one true evil. because i doubt the series is gearing up towards a spectacle-esque battle wherein our heroes get to practice righteous, easy violence on a monolithic army of monsters. that feels like it would undo a lot of asoiaf's preoccupation with investigating violence against socially acceptable targets, even if said target is ice sidhe. and this binary between a one true good and a one true evil, i.e. melisandre's philosophy ("if half an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. a man is good or he is evil.") is not something the story takes as given.
instead there's this exchange between bran, jojen, and meera in asos: "but you just said you hated them." / "why can't it be both?" / because they're different. like night and day, or ice and fire." / "if ice can burn. then love and hate can mate."âand i think it's talking about reconciling two conflicting ideas. because the dream of an eternal summer is just as unsustainable as the threat of eternal winter. i think the battle for dawn is more about questions of seasonal harmony. the first line from agot's summary says, "long ago, in a time forgotten, a preternatural event threw the seasons out of balance", so it's not totally out of question for the series to end with that seasonal balance restored once more. and that question of balance and how it can be achieved then works as a metaphor for a bunch of other things. because asoiaf at its core is very interested in exploring big contradictions, like love and duty? how do you keep all your oaths without betraying someone you love? how can one hope for a just, rightful ruler in a world where the systems in place can never allow such a thing? how do dragons plant trees?
you cannot frame dany's arc as a binary choice between planting trees or embracing (dragon)fire. because the fire is hers, it is a part of her, that's who she is. and her character has always existed outside of rigid dichotomies. at the end of agot she had two options, resign herself to a life of seclusion as a widow or die with the last of her family in that pyre, instead she performed a miracle. presently, i think grrm means to explore necessary, revolutionary violence with her arc because you cannot deal with institutional slavery by simply negotiating with slavers like she does in adwd. and the consequences thereof because she's also been set up to be more reckless with dragonfire in the future. but i think there will be an eventual reconciliation there, between her dreams "to plant trees and watch them grow." and her role as the mother of dragons, as a revolutionary figure. because if ice can burn, then maybe dragons can plant trees. they'll learn how to.
#love jojen btw like yeah king ominously mutter the main series thesis statement just like that.#have wanted to make this post for a while because that quote is everywhere. why are we taking hallucination jorah mormont at his word...#someone else must've already said something similar in response. sorry if this is repeating a bunch of known stuff#anyway i want a citadel sam chapter so bad. i need to know about the seasons!!! i was so excited about it in affc#but then i realised sam wasn't making it to the citadel proper in that book. maddening!#dany#*[đ«]#asoiaf#valyrianscrolls#magic in asoiaf#dragonposting
608 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reminder that canon Jiang Cheng is:
- Self-sacrificing. There have been numerous examples in the book where JC is willing to lay down his life for his family and sect without a second thought. Charging at Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu in the turtle cave. Stepping in front of his mother to protect her from the core melter hand. Distracting the Wen before they discovered WWX. Offering himself as a hostage in return for JL in the Guanyin Temple incident, etc.
- Fiercely protective of his family. The above bullet point elaborates on this part well. But I would also like to add that he is extremely protective of JL. He follows him on nighthunts and is the first person JL calls for whenever he is in trouble. The moment JL sends out a flare, JC is instantly in there, dropping everything for him.
- He allows JL to be a child. Despite the historic context and the stiff upper lip attitudes of that time period, JC allows JL to be a child still. He is spoilt rotten and never knew the same horrors those of his previous generation had to endure. JC does all he can to keep him safe from that to prevent similar incidents from happening again. He also allows JL to healthily express his emotions and never once scolds him for crying. The moment he sees him upset, he's in there soothing him, ready to throw hands with whoever hurt him.
- He doesn't use corporal punishment methods on JL despite it being the norm of that society. JL explains this to WWX who was shocked to discover that JC doesn't punish JL, despite his threats. JL is horrified by the notion and is very comfortable and secure around his uncle. Secure enough to give him sass even, something JC would never dreamed of doing to his elders.
- He is an excellent and attentive leader. He built his sect from the ground up and recruited people on his own all whilst he was still a teenager, still recovering from trauma and torture. He brought his sect back from the brink of annihilation and built it back up as a major sect on very minimal experience with little next to no guidance.
- He's politically savvy. From a young age, he was always socially aware of everything, valuing the safety of his sect and family above everything else. He correctly predicted WWX's downfall and tried so much to warn him and save him from it. Powerless in that moment, he chose his sect over WWX in fear of them being annihilated a second time should he side with him. WWX understood and respected this, so defected of his own accord.
- He still believed in WWX and held onto hope for him, even when things were looking bleak. Despite WWX siding with the Wen, the sect that almost annilihated his own, JC allowed WWX to go with them and remained friends up until WWX inadvertently got JZX and JYL killed. He still allowed WWX to see his sister and even name his nephew. They visited each other in secret regularly despite the risks of being caught, and JC tried to defend him even in the face of the three most strongest sects. He wasn't successful, but he tried.
- He is more reasonable and level-headed than the rumours lead you to believe. We see this when the prostitute comes to testify about JGY. He calmly considers her word and everything she has to say. Not once was he rude or snappy with her. He also remembers his etiquette and addresses elders with manners and respect. He may at times be quick to anger, but he is also quick to calm himself down and conduct himself properly as we see in his first scene where he lets "MXY" go, despite being a practicing demonic cultivator.
- He let's WWX go in the end. The moment he learns the truth about everything and that WWX wasn't entirely guilty for everything everyone accused him of, JC drops all feelings of aminosoty towards him. He doesn't blame him, nor does he actively pursue him anymore and demand he answers for his "crimes." JC got all the answers he wanted from him and instead of holding on to grudges and resentment, he let WWX go to be happy with LWJ, despite clearly wanting him to come back to Lotus Pier. He understands and respects that WWX is ready to move on and start a new life with LWJ. It hurts him, but he respects that decision.
There are many more positive traits I could discuss here, but I'll be here all day if I did.
JC is a nuanced character with a lot of flaws, but he also has a lot of positives that make his character realistic and relatable but also very likeable. He is a traumatised man with a troubled past, but he never allowed it to truly bring him down. He persevered, built up his sect, and raised a nephew with a pure heart. I think it's safe to say that despite his problems and despite everything he has gone through, JC is a survivor with a strong heart. He has a lot of admirable traits that you mustn't ignore or deny if you truly wish to enjoy and appreciate his character.
#canon jiang cheng#jiang cheng#jiang wanyin#jc#canon jc#mdzs#mo dao zu shi#mxtx mdzs#the untamed#the grandmaster of demonic cultivation#jin ling#wei wuxian#the complex characters are always the best characters đ„đ„
346 notes
·
View notes
Note
Re: your tags on the fungus and petrochemicals:
Excuse me, bramble wine? That sounds absolutely divine, how lucky you are! I hope you enjoyed it (and that I get to make/taste this one day)
(In reference to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/757191605386084352/oh-heavens-im-sorry-i-dont-remember-this-at I had to apologise for not being especially coherent in my response to an extraordinarily kind and friendly person as I was several days into a group camping, and had touched too much grass to be coherent, setting aside the bramble wine.)
The camping expedition consisted of seven+ families with children who all know each other extremely well and are growing up in a feral pack together that averages about 30 members. The pack forms at the conjunction of any five children, and therefore often exists in multiple places at once; a mini version can be assembled from as few as two of the core families, but when you have seven of the core, the pack becomes its own entity. For example, exhibiting a fascinating reflection of the hunting behavior of ancestral humans, ten of them together once managed to stalk, hunt and bring down a dragon costume performer at a local festival and sit on it in a few seconds when the adults werenât looking. They had the light of the hunt in their eyes and they were GOING to have that dragon. Anyway this is not conducive to clear and accurate science communication at the best of times, especially since the usual reason that the pack manages to slip the leash is because the grownups are ordering pints.
For this camping expedition there was one family I didnât know, but they live on a boat and we could vibe. They were the ones who brought the bramble wine. They were the people who sometimes evolve into Whiskey Hamishes. The bramble wine was made from foraged blackberries, and had been stored in a box on the roof of the boat (so essentially: outside) since 2019. The bottles were covered in rotten leaves and spiderwebs. This is not how you usually treat wine. Even home-brew. Even hedgerow. This is a recipe for converting free materials into as much alcohol as possible without interference.
The wine itself was similar to dark port, very heavy and thick, headachy around the edges. The alcohol percentage was estimated in the double digits. It is hard to explain but the dark black-purple color had no red in it. It was like ink.
Then, after coming into your campsite and kicking most of the party around lightly, it kissed you on the mouth one last time with a mouthful of blackberries and wandered off.
Iâve never had a hangover (hobbit liver) but I didnât spend much time in dalliance with it. a lot of dads were pretty flat the next morning, but, to be completely fair to them, they DID rouse themselves to take the kids swimming in the river, where they (the dads) laid around recovering like beautiful crocodiles. Thus, all they had to do was lie in the cool mud while children rolled over them like puppies.
Bramble wine!
309 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Curse Of Hope
_
Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesnât remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit heâs ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spiritâs pale grey skin and protruding black bones.
The spirit didnât even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.
âOh, shit,â He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. âIâm sorry. I promise, Iâm not here to steal from you.â The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. âUh, I like that pocket watch? Itâs very nice.â
That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spiritâs very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spiritâs body and wrapped around their core.
Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.
âAre youâŠalright?â Danny stuttered. A stupid question.
The spirit cocked its head. He couldnât see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.
âThe pain of others becomes mine own.â They rasped. âThe lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.â
Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.
The spirit shivered once more. âTell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?â
Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.
-Or-
Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isnât sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.
Luckily, Danny can provide that help.
But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.
#dpxdc#pondhead blurbs#Gotham is very lanky and tall and had dozens of necklaces around their neck#the necklaces are just cords filled with lost things the citizens have lost over the years#like bits of glass or wedding rings or hag stones made from a destroyed gargoyle#actually I have a weird picture of Gotham in my head I might draw it#itâs giving Bloodborne to me but idgaf#basically Danny meets Gotham and is trying to convince them to go with him for medical help because what the fuck#those curses are the equivalent of leaving hundreds of leeches stuck to your body for ten years#Danny is BEGGING Gotham to come with him#thereâs potential for angst but if you want crack then Danny probably replaces Gotham#I think thereâs already a similar fic where he becomes the new spirit of Gotham but I havenât read all of that#anyways the Batfam are like#invasive animals that are actually helping the ecosystem recover from an even WORSE invasive species#but they arenât supernatural heroes and they donât understand that the issue is deeper#Iâm calling this the Curse of Hope because Danny is offering hope to Gotham#but Gotham is just so tired and sick and hurt that they donât want to risk it#they think Danny is another curse come to plague them#should he just straight up adopt the city at this point?#idk it probably depends on how itâs written#sad course is to let Gotham die. happy ending is where they are treated and returned#crack ending probably has Danny adopting the city and introducing them to his own city spirit Amity Park#oh shit is that a new ship#guys please I canât keep doing this#Gotham City x Amity Park#how the fuck do you come up with a name for that#Burger Joints?#Wet Pavement?#bro idk Iâm putting this down before I make something I might regret#low key wanna write this but like. I have so much to do
458 notes
·
View notes
Text
who could stay? (you could stay.) (eddie munson x reader)
summary: you're convinced that being loved comes with a cost. he finds a way to prove you wrong. (wc: 9.7k+)
order up! i've got one ash's special for anonymous. âĄ
Keep going, keep going, keep going.Â
Agree to run that errand for someone. Offer a shoulder to cry on for that person. Fix that problem for this friend. Keep going, keep offering, keep becoming indispensable.Â
You couldnât pinpoint the exact age youâd figured out the formula. You can never know for sure if the day was sunny or if it were rainy, if it were a calm December morning or a buzzing July night, but those details arenât very important. The only important detail is that you had finally cracked the code at some point â you had finally figured out the solution to feeling unlovable. And that was that, truthfully, there wasnât a solution. Once you were destined to feel this way, to feel so sour at your core, there is no easy way to rid yourself of that rotten pit. It would always be there â always churning, always burning, always yearning. Yearning to be loved, yearning to feel those waves of warmth cascading over your brain and down your spine, the ones others had always described to you but youâd just never⊠experienced. Never became familiar with.
It felt like everyone was playing an over-elaborate prank on you. Theyâd all conspired against you, invented a false feeling in which someone claims to feel loved, only to sit back and watch as you fumbled to find it. Theyâd laughed as you dug through a graveyard of relationships, caked your fingernails with dirt as you sobbed and would continue to claw deeper, trying to find just one set of bones that might hold that warmth for you.Â
The only solution to that detrimental feeling of being unlovable, was to feel needed.Â
You needed to feel so necessary, so essential, to everyone around you at all times. It never mattered how much of you it took. Youâd give away every piece of yourself a million times over just to feel wanted at some capacity, even if that capacity were one youâd forced upon the other person. You didnât care if youâd built the glass cages of theirs â you just cared that they kept you around to wipe away any smudges that appeared.Â
Being wanted wasnât quite the same as being loved. And if you thought about that for too long or too often, you might just break irrevocably.Â
âI just donât understand him,â Nancy sighs from the head of your bed, reclining against a wall of pillows youâd lined your headboard with. Two of which were body pillows. Long tubes of fluff to try and fill lonely spaces, you suppose, âWhy didnât he just tell me he didnât want to go to the same college? Why⊠Why do I feel like I am forcing him to be with me?âÂ
Because you are. Just like I force you all to need me.Â
âI donât know, Nance.âÂ
That bland, bitter, half-thought out answer lingers on your tongue, almost burns your throat with the whisper of say more, say something useful, say something comforting. Itâs the whisper of those four words not being enough. Itâs the whisper of that threat that those four words could be the beginning of the end, the thing that makes Nancy realize she doesnât need you.Â
After all, what use is a friend that canât give good advice, or be supportive during relationship rants?Â
You open your mouth to add on something sweeter, something to coat the conversation like honey and smooth out the lines forming on Nancyâs forehead, but she beats you to it, âIâm sorry, Iâm rambling, arenât I?âÂ
Yes. âItâs fine,â at least that wasnât a lie â youâd dug this specific grave, had rooted down tooth and nail only to find another empty coffin of a friendship curtained with want instead of love. Youâd all but asked for this, âWhat he did really was shitty. Itâs not fair to you.âÂ
The words are almost robotic, telling Nancy Wheeler what she wants to hear rather than what she needs to hear. You donât always do that, you do make a point of investing in the truth from time to time to truly secure your position as someone who is genuinely needed in her life, but the headache nagging at your temples tells you itâs not worth the fight tonight. Youâre tired, youâre agitated, and you really just want to get Nancy to the point of contentment in her rambling so that you can send her on her way.Â
God, youâre an awful friend.Â
It turns you quiet, a ricocheting thought that bruises your inner skull the rest of the time Nancy sits on your bed. The guilt eats you alive for that moment of irritation the rest of the night. Even after Nancy goes home, even after youâve brushed your teeth and youâve tucked yourself into bed. The guilt gnaws on the edges of that emptiness inside of you, that ever-present black hole that already existed, and says this is why you cannot be loved.Â
Maybe the pity party for feeling like a bad friend is what makes you a bad friend.Â
And maybe if you were a better friend, you would be loved instead of wanted for once.Â
Itâs all part of a cycle, never-ending and treacherous. Itâs always been this way. You make promises to your friends and rip yourself to shreds before remolding yourself into whatever they need; giving rides to the younger kids within your circle to the pool all summer which evolved into taking turns with Steve as to who would pick them all up after their D&D club ran late every Friday night, always lending a listening ear to Nancy once Johnathan moved away and sheâd had to witness her relationship and her love vanishing in real time, always being the one person who will listen to Robin ramble for hours about her sudden interests. None of it was born of ill-intent, but when youâd go home lonesome at the end of the night, you could see it all for what it was.Â
You were trying to fill a void. A hollow rot, a black hole. And it was only working half the time.Â
Half the time, until he came along.Â
And make no mistake, his arrival was as bloody as anyone who had previously entered your life. For a while there, you believed his headstone was at the end of the line already, sanctioned away in this graveyard of the ability to be loved. He came crashing into your life on a random Friday night, and you had sworn you could already see the end as it began, but you had been wrong.Â
âSo, youâre the infamous babysitter.âÂ
His voice caught you off guard. Youâd been sitting in your car with your windows down, enjoying the reprieve of a cooling autumn evening as you waited for the boys to finish up with their D&D club. With your head buried in the latest sci-fi novel that Dustin had recommended and would no doubt be grilling you on once he got in the car, you hadnât even heard the club exit the school.Â
âNope,â you fought a smile as you glanced up from the pages to see an older guy standing there, closer to yours and Steveâs age than the kids. There wasnât a doubt in your mind that this was the famous Eddie all the boys would ramble on about for hours on end, âHarringtonâs the babysitter. Iâm just the taxi driver.âÂ
There was something particularly pretty in the way he threw his head back with laughter at your words. Curls that messily fell just beyond his shoulders, full lips disappearing as his teeth peeked through and shined beneath the parking lotâs lamp posts. His denim vest looked purposefully distressed with a mirage of patches and pins, and he was wearing a leather jacket beneath it, even if it wasnât quite cold enough for it yet outside. He was cute â and watching him laugh because of you sparked something irreversible inside of you.Â
âCâmon now,â he sighed as his cackles quieted, âGive yourself more credit than that. At least call yourself something fancy, like âchauffeurâ.âÂ
âAh, but âtaxi driverâ insinuates that I charge them,â you donât miss a beat, and your quick wit has him chuckling again.Â
You caught sight of his eyes, corners creased with joy â brown. They were deep, russet, tantalizing brown. Almost indiscernible from his pupil in the dark.Â
âIâm Eddie, by the way.â
You took his hand that he shoved through your open window with ease, and felt an immediate shiver run down your spine. Not quite from the cold, but not quite warm. You saw the first flash of his grave, and you knew youâd be digging your greedy hands into it soon enough.Â
As you gave him your name in return, you knew you wouldnât be leaving well enough alone.Â
You had been half right that night. You wouldnât be leaving well enough alone, you would be seeking out the impossible from Eddie â but so would he.Â
It quickly became apparent that Eddie was a pest. Someone who weaseled his way into the lives of others, who made his presence felt and never forgotten.Â
Youâd started with the same slow dance as you did with every new person, a hesitant dipping of your toes into their waters, unsure if your presence in their life would only cause more trouble than youâre worth, when you quickly discovered that nothing could ever be hesitant or slow with Eddie Munson. Heâs the one constantly reaching out to you. Driving the kids home now takes double the time it used to, long conversations being had with him that has the kids dragging you away, practically begging to just be taken home. The day heâd asked for your number, you couldnât tell which one of you burned brighter red. And the moment he had your number in his clutches? Forget about it. You never heard the end of Eddie Munson, and you never really wanted to.Â
Unlike your friends you already had and loved deeply, Eddie was observant.Â
Itâs within the first month of knowing you that he had picked up on your insecurities. Maybe he hadnât directly seen that gaping hole in your chest yet, but he noticed your habit of running yourself dry to see others thrive.Â
The need to be needed. He picked up on it quickly.Â
âWhat about Sunday?â Eddieâs voice traveled over the line as you laid on your stomach, stretched out across your bed for a few moments of rest before you had to get up and take the cookies youâd baked for Steve and Robin into Family Video, just like you had promised, âIâm free then if I finish all my fuckinâ homework on Saturday night.â
Surprisingly, that phone call with Eddie hadnât been something expected or planned. It had been impulsive; in a rare moment of peace, you found yourself craving to hear his voice. Somehow, the two of you had ended up trying to figure out a free day to properly hang out. Eddie wanted to go to Bennyâs for milkshakes, and you wouldnât turn down the free fries he also promised.
âI canât,â you paused just to hear his predictably dramatic sigh, grinning as you continued to explain, âIâm taking Max to the skatepark that day.â
âAnd itâs going to take all day?âÂ
âIt could!â
âThereâs absolutely no way.â
âYou clearly havenât seen that girl skate.âÂ
The conversation continued, light-hearted enough with plentiful jokes made. Something about talking with Eddie made your heart lighter, the usual unbearable and contradictory weight of emptiness no longer on your mind as you listened to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his classes â a teacher tried to embarrass him when he caught Eddie doodling for a D&D campaign by asking him a question, not expecting him to know the answer. Eddie had, of course, leaving the teacher baffled with a smirk.
 Itâs all about my charm, sweetheart, he responded when you asked how he hadnât earned a detention from that.Â
Only towards the end of the call, when the conversation finally lulled and the two of you found yourselves settled into a comfortable silence, did Eddie finally circle back to the beginning of your conversation.Â
âYou know,â he started, âWhen I first met you, I never took you to be someone soâŠâ
âAmazing? Wonderful? Funny?â you jokingly attempted to finish his sentence.
âBusy.âÂ
Oh. You hadnât expected that one.Â
âBusy?â you repeated back to him, âIâm not that busy.âÂ
Your mind immediately started racing with thoughts of what he had meant. Was he feeling neglected? Maybe you should have canceled on Max on Sunday, agreed to Bennyâs with him instead. No, you couldnât bear Maxâs disappointment. Maybe you could tell Max you had a time constraint, even though you knew she hated those when it came to her skating days. Was there any other plans you could abandon? Anyone else you could bear to let down for the sake of not leaving Eddie high and dry? No, no â all your other weekend plans involved going to the movies with Robin, helping Steve look into colleges finally, taking the boys to the Starcourt mall to shop for supplies to make figurines for their newest campaign. The room was suddenly getting smaller, your chest constricting, your head spinning. You couldnât bear the thought of disappointing any of those people, no, but what about Eddie? Maybe he was right in feeling neglected, maybe you deserved whatever guilt was to come from whatever his next words would be. He was your friend, you were supposed to make time for h-
âSweetheart,â he scoffed over the line, and you swore you heart stopped right then and there, âYouâre the highest thing in demand since Cabbage Patch Kids last Christmas â and trust me, I should know how in demand those fuckers were. I worked seasonally at the mall, remember?âÂ
Your breath caught. He was feeling neglected. You weakly began your apology as tears were already filling your eyes, that panic turning over itself in your gut, âIâm-â
âAnd itâs not a bad thing, donât get me wrong,â Itâs clear your voice had been too soft, too weak, for him to hear you, âJust means Iâve gotta fight harder to be worth your time, am I right?âÂ
You had to clear your throat, but it did nothing to subsidize that anxiety that rattled your bones. Itâs blatantly evident as your voice shook with a second attempt at an apology, âIâm sorry, Eddie. I didnât mean- I can⊠Iâll⊠Just tell me when for Bennyâs. I can make it work, I swear-â
âWoah, woah, woah.âÂ
He had to have heard the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. The shake of your breath as youâd stuttered over your words, grasping for a solution.Â
âYou donât need to apologize for that,â his voice was soothing and soft, the most gentle it had been the entire night. You pinched your eyes shut and just tried to imagine those stupid, big doe eyes, those ungodly messy curls (youâd started to tease him about if he ever even brushed or combed them). The panic remained, but Eddieâs voice started to give it a run for its money, âI was just playing around. You know that, right?â he paused to give you room to answer, but your throat was still tightly squeezed by overwhelming emotion, overwhelming fear of having scorned Eddie, âYou could only have enough time in your schedule to see me once a year, and Iâd still be your friend. We could only have these random phone calls, even if they were never longer than a minute, and youâd still be worth it. You know that, right?â Another pause, another wave of silence from your end, âSweetheart, you donât owe me your time. And I donât need monopoly over it for us to be okay.âÂ
Each word made the panic settle. You werenât sure how he did it. You werenât sure how mortified you should be that he had only been in your life for a month at most, and had just overheard you at your most vulnerable.Â
All you were sure of was that you believed him.Â
âOkay,â you croaked, finally feeling that ring of fear loosen, vocal chords finally functioning once more.Â
âOkay,â Eddie repeated back in that same gentle, soothing, soft tone.Â
You werenât disappointing him. You werenât making him feel neglected. He still found use for you, he still wanted you around â he still needed your friendship. That had to be enough. Â
It was quiet over the line for a few moments.Â
It has to be enough, you reminded yourself.Â
âSay,â you finally said, voice back to normal strength and the tears having dried themselves up for the most part. Your heart had almost returned to normal rhythm, âHow does Bennyâs sound tonight?â
âTonight?â he chimed back, sounding as excited as a little kid the morning of a cherished holiday, something like Christmas.Â
A shiver ran down your spine. Itâs not from the cold, and you tell yourself itâs not quite warmth â it canât be warmth.Â
âTonight,â you confirmed, âWith a detour by Family Video, if you donât mind. Iâve got a special delivery of cookies to fulfill.âÂ
âWhat kind?â
âExcuse me?âÂ
You were grinning - God, you were a pathetic fool, grinning and clutching onto that phone like a lifeline. Like if you let go of it, youâd lose his voice, and if you lost his voice, that would be the end of the world.Â
âWhat kind of cookies?â
âChocolate chip.â
He hummed, not answering right away as if he were deliberating this information. When he finally spoke again, another shiver wrapped around your spine, spinning down, down down. Waves of what you almost believed were warmth. âOkay. I suppose I can be your taxi driver, for a price.â
âWhatâs your price?âÂ
âOne cookie.â
âDeal.â
It had to be enough, because you were still clutching that telephone tightly to your cheek, long after the phone call ended with Eddieâs promise of being at your house soon enough. It had to be enough, because after that night, it became clear; the world would not end with the loss of just Eddieâs voice from your life, but the loss of Eddie, period. It was the first night of many in which you played a very, very dangerous game.Â
Even with Nancy gone, you felt restless. You couldnât help but linger just a little longer in all that self-pity, still replaying the night and all you could have done differently.Â
Had she caught on with how out of it you had been? Had she seen through your act and immediately assumed the worst â assumed you werenât worth keeping around?Â
The thoughts might be an overreaction.Â
You were definitely overreacting.Â
You didnât really care that you were overreacting, though, because you really couldnât control it. It was just another dark path you couldnât stop your mind from traveling down. It was endless, and it was lonesome, and⊠and it was just normal. What should be devolving into a panic attack can only settle like an emptiness deep within your chest; youâve been staring at the blank wall of your living room for so long without blinking, your eyes have gone dry.Â
A pattern. Thatâs what the therapist said. You had a pattern for overthinking these interactions, for projecting feelings onto others that didnât exist. You think all your friends hate you, you think that a stranger found your smile to be more of a grimace, you think your mom hasnât called in months because she recognizes you as a failure finally. But none of it is actually what those people think. Itâs like a mirror â you look into the eyes of others, and you see all your own insecurities reflected back.Â
Sheâd asked you to work on it. To take a step back and just breathe, just remind yourself of that, whenever this happens. Youâd decide whether youâd mention this minor slip up later. For now, you were going to wallow. You were going to spiral with just you, this damn blank wall, and maybe even the bottle of wine in the fridge.Â
Yes, your mind was made up, and you force yourself to stand from the couch and wander into the kitchen, eyes still dry and chest still caving in on itself as you open the fridge.Â
Thatâs as far as you get. Your fridge is wide open, the bright luminescent light flooding your kitchen floor in time with the trickling chill that sneaks up on your warm cheeks and already numb toes, when you spot it.Â
A box of takeout. Itâs old enough now you could throw it out, you had known the moment heâd taken the last of his meal to-go that he wouldnât finish it. Teased him about it, even. But he was stubborn and you werenât capable of turning down the opportunity to let another piece of him, another flash of evidence of his place in your life, occupy this apartment. So there it sat, a half-eaten burger he hadnât revisited.Â
But he had revisited the apartment â revisited you. Heâd been here every night this week, and youâd practically had to shove him out on the street to get him to leave this morning to get to work on time.Â
The edges of that emptiness that weighs down your insides blur, already lightening microscopically as you slam shut the fridge and forgo the wine completely to grab the phone instead.
âYou donât have to always take care of everyone, you know,â he murmured as he joined you in the kitchen to retrieve popcorn for the gang, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie night.Â
âPardon?â you asked, hardly glancing over your shoulder as you punched in the designated time for the microwave to turn the kernels into an easy, mouth-watering snack of butter and crunch.Â
âYou always take care of everyone. You donât have to.â
His words rang clearer that time, loud enough to have stopped you in your tracks. You paused mid-reach, the cabinet for the Harringtonâs bowls wide open and shelves nearly too tall for you.Â
âI-â you werenât sure exactly what to say, âWhat do you mean?âÂ
His brows scrunched, eyes having narrowed in the slightest in your direction, âPlease donât play dumb right now.âÂ
âIâm not playing dumb. Iâm trying to get popcorn for our movie night,â you waved your hand towards the shelves lined with bowls for emphasis on your point, âThatâs not really taking care of everyone â it was just being polite. Steveâs hosting, itâs the least I can do.âÂ
âThe least you can do? The least you can do is actually just sit with friends, enjoy the movie,â the crease between his brow deepened, eyeing you with an unfamiliar concern. You shifted beneath the weight of his gaze.Â
You donât know what to say. Except, âItâs not that serious.âÂ
He scoffed, and you nearly flinched from it. Fear threatened to bubble up â heâs upset, heâs getting irritated at you. Heâs getting tired of you.Â
You waited for him to say something more as the buzz of the microwave filled the tense space, but he remained silent. Brooding.Â
âWhat?â your voice shook, your entire being torn between succumbing to all that fear and anxiety in upsetting him further and that voice in the back of your mind that urged you to push him, to hear what he really thought. âI know you have something more to say.âÂ
âIn the six months Iâve known you, you havenât taken a single break for yourself.âÂ
He met your push, stood his ground and didnât let it put any distance between you two. It felt like a goddamn revelation, right there in the Harrington kitchen.Â
âI take plenty of breaks, Eddie,â you tried to laugh off, âI do spend time away from you all, hard as that may be to belie-â
âHardly,â he cut you off as sharply as the first resonating pop that echoed from the microwave.Â
âWhatâs your point? I just like being around you guys. Like I said, itâs not that serious.â
This was the part where the distance would happen. You kept pushing, took the inch heâd given you to bite back and ran with it. Normally, you avoided conflict with any of your friends vehemently. Always afraid, always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicate. You would take such care in never giving them a reason to hate you that youâd never taken to a battleground before.
But there had been a look in Eddieâs eyes that night. A shine that, breaking through all the worry for you, whispered, fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Iâll still call you tomorrow, no matter what words we exchange tonight.Â
A safety net had formed that youâd never even noticed. That delicacy wasnât needed here. You could pick up the sword, there in that kitchen, and it wouldnât turn Eddie to smoke and shadows.Â
âMy point isâŠâ he paused, he swallowed hard, he exhibited the delicacy that was usually expected from you, âYou can like being around us. But you should put yourself first. At least once. At least on movie night.âÂ
âHow is me making popcorn not putting myself first?â you got the question out, you took a deep breath, ready to go on some sort of defensive tirade for your habit you were well aware of.
He beat you to it, âEvery day last week, you only got three hours of sleep, at most, before your shifts. You gave up sleep to hang out with us all way too late, refused to throw in the towel and go home before anyone else.â
âI could have napped-âÂ
âYou didnât nap,â he stressed, taking a step closer to you. The popping of the snack turning in the microwave was erratic, mere seconds left on the timer. Static noise to the conversation at hand, âI know you didnât fucking nap after your shifts because you were immediately running errands for everyone else, or hanging out again. You offered to give Robin a ride to work every single day, and her shifts start⊠what, an hour after yours ended? And then you had to give her rides home, right? But in those hours she was at work, you were helping Dustin with an essay for school â that little fucker told me all about it. You were awake when Johnathan called you and we were all stoned off our asses, went and got us food we didnât need but still wanted. We didnât even expect you to pick up, you know? I told them, I swore to them, you wouldnât pick up. You had a morning shift. You were scheduled literal hours from when we called you. But you picked up. You fucking picked up, and you went and got the fucking food for us fucking idiots.â
Your brain completely malfunctioned. You couldnât comprehend how he was saying all of these things that should be good things, things that proved you were needed and you were reliable, but with such venom in his tone.Â
Anger had sparked within you as you pictured how giddy Dustin had been over the B heâd earned on his essay, that sincere appreciation on Robinâs face every time she left your car last week, the dopey grin that Argyle had worn when youâd arrived with their food order in your pajamas. All previously things to fuel you, filling that aching hole inside of you, now being tarnished because he was concerned.
âOh, Iâm sorry,â you seethed at him, âWould you prefer I hadnât been awake? Would you prefer I let Dustin just⊠get a fucking F on that essay? Or Robin walks to work?âÂ
âYes!âÂ
You were both shocked at the sudden volume in your voices. The quickness in his reply. The quiver in your lip.Â
âYes,â he breathed out, quieter this time, âI would prefer those things if it meant you were taking care of yourself. The word ânoâ should be in your vocabulary, sweetheart. I⊠The world doesnât end just because you donât constantly make yourself available.â
But you all needing me might.
âJust⊠justâŠâ your breaths came out in huffs, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet Eddieâs stare. A final push, and it came out more fragile than youâd ever intended, âJust mind your business, Eddie.âÂ
He opened his mouth to say more, but the microwave started to go off, signaling what you saw as the end of the conversation â the fight. Youâd raised your voice at him, youâd swung that sword in his direction, and he hadnât vanished. His friendship â he â wasnât as breakable as youâd thought.Â
You spun on your heel, you took the popcorn out and divided it into bowls for the group, busying your hands in any way possible. All the while, he never left the kitchen. He stood just feet away from you and let you do what needed to be done, and only stopped you as you turned to exit the kitchen with the snacks acquired.Â
His hand caught onto your elbow, âYou have bags.âÂ
âExcuse me?â
âYou have bags under your eyes,â he elaborated. He no longer looked frustrated, but defeated, a morose distress pinching the edges of his feature.
âJesus,â you were now scoffing, adjusting your grip on those bowls, âYou really know how to compliment a girl, donât you?â
âTheyâve been there for months,â his grip refused to loosen, thumb trailing over the crease in your arm, âPlease donât run yourself into the ground.âÂ
You gave him a cold shoulder as you left him behind to rejoin your friends, unable to shake his consternation. It was so genuine, it terrified you. It made your insides churn, it turned your anxious attachment to dust.Â
It made a shiver of warmth travel down your spine.Â
The empty space beside you on the couch only remained for seconds after youâd passed around the bowls, keeping one for yourself. He was back there, back at your side, as if the two of you hadnât just exited a battle ground. As if a stand-off hadnât just occurred, as if it all hadnât ended in a draw.Â
He looked at you with those eyes.
Fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Donât walk away from me. I will still call tomorrow.
He did more than call that night. As the movie started, he didnât so much as flinch when your head fell to his shoulder in exhaustion. He only tucked an arm around your shoulders, only shifted you to be more comfortable as you used him as a personal pillow. He glared at everyone in warning not to grill you on the plot of the movie when youâd awoke mildly disappointed, heâd let you sleep on the drive home. He never once brought the fight back up.Â
And he still called the next day.Â
After your shift, he was the first voice you heard after dragging your feet into your apartment. A brief apology was exchanged before it was back to business as usual between you two. And somewhere between his rambles, you fell asleep with your phone balanced half-haphazardly between your cheek and shoulder. You could only dream of the grin he wore when heâd hear your soft snores over the line, quieting down immediately to let you rest. He never hung up â he was content to sit on a hushed line if only for the assuredness that you were finally resting.Â
The warmth no longer traveled down your spine, instead curling up timidly near that hole inside of you. You let it.Â
âMunson residence!â
That warmth that had found home in your chest still remains to this day, rousing at Eddieâs voice over the line. Itâs nearly enough to make you cry â the relief that floods you just by the sound of him and his endless chipper. His optimism that always seems to exist, even in contrast with those harsh edges he tries to portray.Â
âEddie,â you whisper, as if youâre not the only one in your apartment, âCan you⊠Are you free?âÂ
Even after a year, you still sometimes felt guilt, asking so much of him. Asking so much, and giving so little in return.Â
But you werenât the one who set that standard. Eddie had. Ferociously, fiercely, stubbornly. The insistence that you simply being was enough for him.Â
âFor you, sweetness?â he chuckles lowly. He recognizes your voice immediately; you never have to say itâs you calling. You could have shrugged it off as Caller ID, but you knew the Munsonâs phone didnât have that. No, he recognized you by voice only. Heâd once joked that only you would one day be able to rouse him from the dead, based on the âsweet melody aloneâ. Recognition in death â you had managed to burrow your way so deeply into his life, youâd earned recognition in death. âAlways. Whatâs up?âÂ
You could have just kept him on the phone. Had one of your infamous conversations about everything and nothing. Sat on the cold tiles of your kitchen and smiled like a child as you listened to him rant. But the cold chill of your lonesome apartment was becoming suffocating, and you remembered that take out in the fridge and the way one of his socks had ended up in your laundry last week. You remembered how you started keeping his favorite brand of beer in your fridge and how one of your pillows started to permanently smell like his aftershave.
He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. He had a key to your apartment. He had a space, here, in this lonesome apartment. And all you had to do was beckon to him, and he would come to fill it. Always.Â
âCan you come over?âÂ
You donât even have to explain yourself. He complies readily, whispers out a soft yes in the voice youâd also recognize even in death, and promises to be there within ten minutes.Â
He makes it within eight.Â
And youâre still leaning on your kitchen counter, your head still swimming dangerously with all the different ways youâd let down Nancy. Once upon a time, you might have worried about inviting him over, worried that your anxieties and your short-comings might bleed into your relationship with him. In the beginning, it had been simple enough. You kept him at an armâs length away the moment you realized you couldnât make yourself needed to him, not out of selfishness but out of fear. Fear, because if he didnât need you, why would he stick around?Â
Because without need, if you did the wrong thing, there was no necessary thread tying them to you. Because without need, there was no chance for the day that you might find love in your grave robbings, and you couldnât handle the thought of someone like Eddie Munson deciding you werenât worth his time.Â
It hadnât occurred to you for a very long time that maybe, possibly, youâd been going around the concept of love with a very wrong mindset.Â
Your safe place. Thatâs what the back of the van had become over these sticky summer nights â your safest refuge.Â
It was always the same scene; Eddie on his back beside you, lazily nursing a joint, while you sat up reading passages of the latest book you two had embarked on together. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was fantasy, and sometimes, it was just a reread. That night, it was a reread. The Hobbit.Â
ââI donât see that this will help us much,â said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. âI remember the mountain well-ââ you recited off of the page, when Eddie suddenly sat up abruptly and snatched the book from you.Â
âNo, no, no!â he wagged his finger at you after he discarded his joint into the ashtray youâd made him start keeping in the fan, âSweetheart, youâre doing the voices all wrong.âÂ
You rolled your eyes at him, reaching to take the book back, âNot all of us have a Dungeon Master voice to whip out, Munson. Give it back.âÂ
âAbsolutely not.âÂ
âDo I need to say please? Iâll say please.âÂ
It was best like this. Just the two of you, away from everyone else. Some nights, the two of you hadnât even needed a book to bond over. Youâd just gaze at stars, or indulge in whatever weed heâd brought along with him. He never pressured you, though â if you shook your head at his offer of the joint, that was that. He seemed to apply that to most aspects of your friendship this last year.Â
You never had to prove anything to him. He saw your worth as if it were glaringly obvious, as if it were as simple of a concept as breathing. No extra effort needed from your end.Â
Just by being, you had managed to become something important to him. He needed you, if only because you were you.Â
âThe puppy dog eyes arenât gonna work on me,â he snorted, shifting so that his shoulder pressed against your own. A warmth spreads from the point of contact. âLet the master show you how itâs done.âÂ
You tried to not let it show, but your grin was radiant. He was the master at those ridiculous voices, at theatrics and at bringing the story to life. You were transported from the shore of Loverâs Lake, in the back of that stuffy yet comforting van, to meadows of soft grass and hobbit holes of comfort. To a place where all the threats were mythical and all the expectations of you were released.Â
Youâd spent the week helping Steve finish up his college plans. His parents had tried to pressure him into picking his top three universities, but the moment he had confided in you that he might prefer a community college to begin, youâd held his hand as you guided him through the process. A rewarding process, have no doubt, but it had left you numb and reeling. Sharing someone elseâs stress, shouldering their burdens â it had been a bit much.
You needed this. You needed Eddieâs ridiculous voices and the sharp press of his shoulder against your temple.Â
âFalling asleep on me already?â he teased when heâd noticed how quiet you had gone.Â
âNever,â you lied through a yawn that quickly exposed you.Â
âLiar,â he huffed. You didnât even need to glance up to confirm the smile you knew he wore. âWe can head back home, if you need. I know itâs getting late-â
âNo,â you quickly sat up, effectively making yourself dizzy, âNo, I- Itâs fine. Iâm awake. I swear.â
âItâs okay that you were falling asleep,â he was quick to reach out, to tug you back down to his side, wrapping his arm around you to press you even closer than before, âI just donât want to keep Cinderella out past Midnight.âÂ
âItâs barely ten.âÂ
âNothing gets past you, Sherlock,â he scowled as you pressed your grin against his t-shirt clad shoulder, âIâm serious, though. Do I need to take you home?â
âNo, Eddie. Iâm good.â
âSwear it? Swear you donât have an early shift, or some⊠some obligation?âÂ
âNo shifts, no obligations.âÂ
âAnd if I just kidnap you for the weekend? Am I going to have an angry mob at my doorstep, demanding your service?âÂ
You smiled wider at the thought. The idea of him hiding you away, letting you live in this reprieve for the entire weekend. It was a nice thought, âI certainly wouldnât complain.âÂ
And so the two of you sat there like that for an hour more. Eddie coming up with ridiculous tones for the various characters, you slipping in and out of consciousness as his warmth stayed wrapped around him. You donât even notice when the warmth heâd planted in you finally covers up that hole inside of you, not even missing the absence of that emptiness until Eddie went quiet.
In the silence, you noticed it.Â
The gash youâd grown accustomed to, the hole that had become an extra limb for you. Vanished. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.
It was a sudden and terrifying realization. Everything in you urged you to jump up, to scramble around you to find the darkness again, like a comfort blanket you couldnât stand to lose. You went against the instinct, though, and rose slowly from Eddieâs hold.Â
In lieu of scrambling, you peered at Eddie curiously. âHey, Eds. Can I ask you something?âÂ
He nodded sleepily, almost as drowsy as you. Youâre shocked when he shifts and instead of pulling you back to him, he opted to lay his head in your lap.Â
That hole was still gone. The weight of his head on your thighs, the feeling of his breath on your bare thigh. For a moment, you canât breathe.Â
Youâre warm. Not uncomfortably so, but encapsulated with an internal warmth. Like a fever spreading, the ice in your spine that you had lived with for years had begun to thaw.Â
âWhy do you keep me around?â you whispered, still sitting stiffly, staring in awe down at the way he just nuzzled his face into your lap.
With his eyes still closed, face smooth from any worry from the question, he mumbled, âWhat do you mean?âÂ
You only hesitated due to the thought crossing your mind; what if you bringing this up reminds him?Â
You thought back to the night in Harringtonâs kitchen. The push and the pull, the bloody battle and the way he still called.
He was not as delicate as you took him for.Â
âI- What do you get out of this?â you couldnât figure out how to phrase it correctly. You knew what you got out of this, but what does he get?Â
âGet out of what?âÂ
âGet out of keeping me around.â
His eyes finally opened, twisting in your lap so that he could stare up at you. âYou say that as if youâre forcing me to be your friend.âÂ
I could be, that nagging voice in your mind whispered. You could very well be forcing him, and just be blinded because you were enjoying the summer of warmth that he carried with him too much to let him go.Â
âYou never let me do anything for you,â you sighed, fingers finding themselves tangled in his roots against better judgment. But you needed to touch him, to ground yourself, as you admitted this hard truth, âYou do shit for me all the time. You drive all the way out to this lake just because I complain about everything being too much. Youâve started playing chauffeur for the kids to give me a break. Harrington said you even offered to look at college brochures with him. AndâŠ. And Iâm not stupid, Eds,â your voice shook as you looked down at him, a sudden feeling of undeserving striking you in your chest, âYou do so much for me lately. And you donât ask for anything in return â you donât let me do anything in return. Why?â
His smile twisted with a hint of sadness, and brown eyes met your gaze without so much as flinching, âSweetheart, why do you think you have to repay me for that stuff?â
âI-â
âNo, hear me out,â he reached up, taking your hand out of his hair and lacing his fingers with yours, slowly dragging it down to rest on his sternum, âI chose to do that stuff. And, yeah, maybe I was trying to take some of that shit off your plate. But you didnât ask me to. I chose to. I wanted to do those things, do nice things for you, because you wonât let anyone else.âÂ
You bit back a scoff, âI let people do nice things for me-â
âYou really donât,â his hold on your hand tightened, âYou really, really donât. You constantlyâŠ. You just, you take care of everyone else, but you act afraid to let someone take care of you. People are allowed to take care of you, too, yâknow? You should let them. They love you â they want to take care of you, just like you take care of them.âÂ
They love you.Â
The air drained from your lungs in a slow, silent sigh. You waited a few minutes, but the oxygen never replenished as you tried to grasp his words.Â
They love you.Â
Why would they love me?Â
âWhy wouldnât they love you, sweetheart?â Eddie looked more concerned now, suddenly prepared to sit up and remove his head for your lap. But his hand still held yours tightly, still clung to you, âYou know they love you, right? God, you gotta know that. We all love you.âÂ
You hadnât realized youâd spoken the bitter thought out loud until he looked at you, utterly heartbroken, in complete disbelief. âIâŠâ
No. I donât know that. What have I done to deserve their love?Â
âThey need me, sure,â you started, narrowing your eyes at the breaks in the waves of Loverâs Lake, âI mean, I just try to make myself useful to them. Itâs the least I can do when I⊠when theyâŠâ you struggled to get the words out. You saw that hole again, like a light at the end of the tunnel, but so far from the relief most mean by that metaphor. Something peeking around the corner, ready to devour you all over again. So you plunged, you prepared yourself for it to spring to life and take you whole as you nearly whimpered, âWhen they put up with me. Itâs the least I can do when they put up with me.âÂ
âNo one puts up with you,â Eddieâs voice cracked. You couldnât even look him in the eyes. âLeast of all me.âÂ
The deadliest of blows. He cracked your hardened surface with that, shook the foundations of every belief youâd held for eternity.Â
âMost of all you,â you corrected without thinking, âGod, I- Eddie, seriously. What reason do you have for keeping me around? I donât know how the fuck you put up with m-â
âDonât finish that sentence,â youâd never heard him beg so painfully before then, âPlease. Donât⊠You want to know my reason?â you nodded numbly, finally looking to find him with wet eyes and lips pressed into a fine line, âBecause youâre you. I⊠Fuck, I love you. I keep you around because youâre you. Youâre good for me. Whether you believe it or not. Youâre good for me just by being you, and thereâs nothing you have to do to accomplish that,â you started to look away before he grabbed your cheeks, turning you to face him as he emphasized each word, âYou donât have to earn love. Thatâs not what love is. Got it?âÂ
You looked into his eyes, and saw all the soft declarations of love echoed back to you, even from the very start.Â
âSweetheart, you donât owe me your time. And I donât need monopoly over it for us to be okay.â
âThe world doesnât end just because you donât constantly make yourself available.â
The entire time youâd been so worried about taking care of everyone else, heâd been worried about taking care of you. Endless late night phone calls, careful check-ins when he saw the exhaustion take the frontlines, sparse fights about putting yourself first. The only thing he ever wanted from you was for you to take care of yourself.Â
While you were busy being there for everyone else, he was busy being there for you.Â
He never once made you dig to the bottom of his grave to find the warmth. Heâd handed it over on a silver platter.Â
So how could you look him in his at that moment, and tell him that you didnât âget itâ? That youâd never been sure if what you were seeking from your friends was really love? That, really, youâd given up on being loved a long time ago, assuming it was asking too much?Â
How do you look him in his eyes in that moment and tell him you had long since declared yourself unlovable?Â
He didnât make you say it. Only kept your cheeks pressed between his palms, as he leaned forward, forehead meeting yours and whispering words for only you, âI love you, no strings attached. Youâre my⊠friend. I love you. Okay?â Â
No one had ever fought so valiantly to get the point across. Not just that night at the lake, but in the entirety of his friendship with you.Â
The hole slinked back behind the corner. The darkness decided it could wait another day. And in its place, warm brown eyes filled the void. Whether he even realized it or not.Â
You nearly believed him. Nearly. But you bit down hard on that belief, throwing it out of sight, and instead of echoing back the âokayâ you assumed he was seeking out, all you did was sob out another, âWhy?âÂ
When you collapsed into him, he held you. Your sobs remained dry, your confusion palpable as you clung to him and tried to let that belief envelope you like his arms had.Â
I love you.Â
How could someone love you?Â
He didnât press it the way you thought he would. He didnât scold you for continuing to question him and he didnât lash out at your disbelief.Â
He just held you. Letting your face press into his neck as his fingers ran up and down your spine, giving it a moment before he started talking again.Â
âYour humor,â he hummed after a couple moments of silence, heavy breathing eventually evening out.Â
âWhat?â
âThe way you take care of others,â he continued on like he hadnât heard you, âThat spark you get in your eyes when you tell someone about something good. A favorite book, movie, story from your day â whatever it is. The way you give the best hugs â and you donât give me them nearly often enough. The way you snore, and the way you definitely deny snoring.âÂ
You opened your mouth, about to lift your head and argue with him, but he just placed an encouraging palm on the back of your head to keep you close to him.Â
âThe way your favorite color changes with the seasons. The way you only like artificial cherry flavoring, not the real stuff. The way you look at night when weâre driving and youâre just screaming your favorite lyrics. The way you look at me to see if a joke lands. The way you fuss about my wrinkled clothes, even when you also donât care about the wrinkles in your own shirts. The way you take your coffee. The way you always offer to paint one of my nails to match yours. The way you treat your recipe for chocolate chip cookies like some top secret, government trade. But we both know itâs just some recipe from a cookbook you thrifted when you were ten. The way you get excited over the small things, like the cows we pass by on the way out here. They're always there, and you always point them out. The way you just⊠are.âÂ
He didnât have to say it. He was answering your question.Â
He was listing his whys.Â
âYou donât have to earn it,â he didnât say the word, not this time. You felt it, âIt just⊠itâs there. Itâs there and itâs not going anywhere. Iâll remind you of that every day if I have to.âÂ
Loved. For the first time ever, it felt like a possibility; to be loved.Â
Eddie always knocks on your front door a certain way â a pattern he rarely strays from. But you can always tell. Heâs the only fool who would find humor in knocking out such an annoying compilation of hits on the wooden panels until you finally unlatch the lock and open it to find him standing in your threshold.Â
His hair is frizzy and in a low ponytail, wearing a baggy band shirt and plaid pajama pants. He greets you with such a wide smile, your chest aches.Â
âHey there, sweetness.âÂ
You donât say a word, just drag him inside before you wrap your arms around his waist. Ever since that night, and his admittance of enjoying your hugs, you made a conscious effort to hug him more often.Â
âMiss me?â he chuckles, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek as you softly pinch his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him only laugh harder once you pull away.Â
âNot at all,â you snark back as you make sure the door is securely shut and properly locked.
âNot even a little bit?â
âNope.âÂ
He smacks a fist to his chest as if you had stabbed him with your words, âOuch. You wound me, sweetheart.âÂ
âGet over it,â you tease. Your head has finally stopped swimming, your chest no longer tight with the fear of not being enough. Nancy is long forgotten as you say, âHave you eaten dinner?âÂ
âDepends,â he hums as he toes off his boots, âIf youâre offering to buy me some, then no, I definitely did not eat spaghetti with Wayne right before you called.âÂ
You throw your head back laughing as heâs already making a beeline for your kitchen, digging out that damned takeout menu and reaching for the phone, already so sure of your order.
Knowing your order at restaurants. Without having to ask. Apparently, that was part of the whole âbeing lovedâ gig.Â
Adjusting has taken months. Since that night in Eddieâs van, heâd kept his word. Not a day went by without him finding a way to remind you, whether it be by direct words or small actions, that he loved you. You both kept it under that friendly guise. He loved you in that familiar way, the way the others supposedly loved you. A way you could manage to recognize some days.Â
Other days were still rough. Days like today were still rough.Â
The takeout is ordered and Eddie sets up camp on your couch, rambling about something that had happened during one of the DnD nights he still hosted with the kids. Something about a dumb decision Mike did that cost most of the group their characterâs lives. You have a hard time following along, and heâs quick to pick up on it.Â
âHey, sweetheart?â he murmurs as you lean into the back couch cushion, smooshing your cheek as you watched him animatedly speak.
âHm?â
âBad day?âÂ
He never judged you for the rough days. He never judged you for the days you still couldnât find the love, even after he worked so virtuously to show it to you. He may never understand it, that hollow ache that resided in your darkest corners and whispered that none of it was real, but it never deterred him.
He loved you on good days, and he especially loved you on bad days.Â
You consider lying to him, but you canât. Not when he looks at you so earnestly, âYeah. It⊠yeah.âÂ
âWanna talk about it?â he asks you, shuffling to be more comfortable where he sits as he motions for you to lay down. You do so immediately, head finding a home against his thigh and his fingers stroking over your cheek before they toy with the ends of your hair.Â
All you can do is shake your head. You didnât want to talk about that fear of failing Nancy as a friend, especially when you know that wasnât her take away from it. It felt silly now; all that overthinking, when you know now if you questioned her on it, all she would have seen from the day was a friend lending a caring ear. You know because you had asked her about it once, if she found your listening habits too callous, upon Eddieâs insistence.Â
She hadnât. In fact, all she could do was thank you, had insisted that she was just grateful someone would listen to her ramblings. And you understood that, left it at that.Â
âOkay,â he murmurs, voice so quiet you nearly miss it. His fingers continue to play across your shoulders now, barely weighted against bare skin, âThatâs fine.âÂ
He didnât mind if you didnât want to talk about it. He didnât mind if you never spoke another word, if all you needed was him here. You just needed him close by and to sit with you, to make it all a little less much.Â
Nothing. He needed absolutely nothing from you, asked nothing of you. Because you didnât have to earn this. All you had to do was simply be, and he would provide this.Â
Love. What an odd concept, to have found warmth in a grave you never even got the chance to dig your shovel into.Â
âHey, Eddie?â his fingers pause at your croaking voice. You smile at his stillness, at the way he hums carefully in response, still trying to offer the silence you quietly begged for, âI love you.âÂ
Thereâs more to unpack there. More than just familial love, more than just two friends that love each other without conditions. But tonight is not the night, and you both see that it is enough. There will be other nights to dig your claws in and to dissect what those three little words mean between you two. There will be other nights to consider how your other friends donât have a permanent spare toothbrush on your bathroom counter or a space for their takeout in your fridge. But not tonight.
For tonight, this was enough. The quiet, and the warmth, the being was enough.Â
âI love you,â he emphasizes the last word, leaning down and his lips grazing your temple.Â
You notice the way he leaves off the too. Heâd love you, even if you didnât love him. Youâd love him, even if he didnât love you. Unconditional, no strings attached. A warmth you do not have to fight to earn. A rarity you never encountered before, and may never encounter again, but you have for tonight and for as long as he chooses to stick around.Â
Your shovel sits abandoned in a shed in the distance. Your fingernails are clean of the dirt. The graveyard, it seems, would go another night without its robber.Â
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#yeah the archer has a chokehold on me#idk man this is scary to post a put... a lot of myself in here#my bad#3k celebration
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Please I beg for Rui crumbs *violently shakes my tin can*
Anything will do
Please đ©
/also hello :3
HELLOOO
I offer you đ€Č rui angst and mild yandere-ism
I'm gonna be honest: I wrote this half asleep so I might change some things later and I will probably expand on it to make a longer fic just of him suffering( ÂŹ Ìá ÂŹ ) so this is just a liddol taste for now!!!
Rui knew you didn't take him seriously.
He knew what he looked like, what he sounded like. He had a full length mirror and, even if he didn't, he was pretty sure Ed would be more than pleased to rub it in his face.
Rui knew he was the spitting image of a player. Flirting came naturally to him, winks and flying kisses were mere greetings.
He knew very well that, at some point, his host club image became a way to cope with his curse â since he couldn't ever touch anyone, unless he wanted them dead, what was the harm in being just a little bit more forward, right?
One thing he didn't account for, is how you'd see right through him. You managed to see beyond his carefully crafted mask of nonchalance â not as an irredeemable flirt, but as someone who would gladly trade all the attention he gets from his antics for a way to free himself of his awful curse.
While he acted like he's used to his fate, you saw how inside he was constantly clawing his way out of despair.
Rui didn't really know when the messages he sent your way started stirring his insides. He didn't know when his groin began to feel uncomfortable at the thought of you on his bed, at his mercy (or maybe he could be at your mercy, who knows? He'd be more than willing to adapt).
What he knew very well, much to his chagrin, is that his comments began to feel more and more like truths, rather than harmless flirting.
Suddenly, his fingers hovered a little longer on his phone's keyboard â write, erase, write, erase and write again. Typing a simple message became so difficult when the words mattered, when Rui wanted you to believe his words.
And as he saw the way your hands ran through Lyca's hair while you brushed it before school, he felt the thorns of a feeling, green and rotten, pierce his core relentlessly â the last nail on his coffin of insufferable pining.
Rui, then, thought: how could he finally convince you that he, more than anyone else, truly wanted to know you?
How could he prove that he wanted you to sleep every single night in his dorm, even if he couldn't touch you?
That he just needed to know he was breathing the same air as you â becoming one with you through atoms and chemical reactions, since he couldn't through a kiss.
How could he tell you that he was all yours to take if you wanted to?
It was something new, this longing. And staying awake for so long became a torture, because even as he cut the branches of his plants or cleaned his bar, his mind still went straight to you.Â
Would you prefer a sweeter beverage, or a bitter one?Â
Would you like the taste of the new drink he was concocting?Â
Would you try some of his favorite creations?Â
Would you please drink from one of his cups so he could just never wash it again and find a bit of reprieve through an indirect kiss andâ
Oh⊠Yeah⊠He was losing it.
After all, the world wasn't unfair when it gave him that awful curse. The world was unfair, however, when it sent you his way and prohibited him from touching you like he needed to.
And he desperately needed to be able to hold you in his arms, until he couldn't tell when his body ended and yours started, in order to quench the madness that brewed, so dangerously close to boiling, inside his core.
173 notes
·
View notes
Text
candy -> myoui mina ver
aka the fluff alphabet
admiration (what does she absolutely adore about you)- mina loves how much you love her group. youâre twice biggest defender fr. knows all the cheers by heart and uses twice songs as your ringtone lol
body (whatâs her favourite body part of yours)- in my prime i read my fair share of ice queen mina fanfiction, so iâll say hands! cause she can look all elegant and fancy and intimidating while STILL holding her gfâs hand hihi
cuddling (how she likes to cuddle)- i think cuddling happens naturally when you two are sitting next to each other on the couch for example? like watching a movie and sitting at an armâs length turns into you half sitting on her lap while sheâs half asleep lol
dates (whatâs her ideal date)- iâm thinking very romantic, but simplistic. once in a while you get off work earlier than mina and come home to cook you two a yummy, candlelit dinner. thatâs more than enough for her
emotions (how does she express her emotions around you)- remember when i said ice queen⊠yeah. but only at first! its like, you asked her out and she agreed but she was so excited for the date and tried to hard to be composed she actually freaked you out đ
family (does she want one)- iâm gonna say yes. mina feels like the type of person who would want to settle down eventually and have a mini-me running around
gifts (what about gift giving)- mina is rich ok. rich parents, one of the most successful groups in korea⊠she gives you gifts casually, thinking theyâre just a small thing that reminded her of you while itâs an sickeningly important watch or something lol
holding hands (does she like to hold hands)- as i said before, yes. i think she also likes to drag you around in certain situations. if youâre taking too much with one of her members for example, and not giving her enough attention, sheâll subtly grab your hand and drag you away
injuries (what would she do if you got hurt)- burn down whatever hurt you. and i lean BURN. sheâs serious about her baby getting hurt
jokes (does she like to joke around)- yes BUT, you almost never expect it. mina doesnât feel like the type to pull pranks so when she makes a harmless joke or says something ironically you usually think sheâs being serious đ
kisses (how does she like to kiss you)- gentle and calm. mindful and demure. my girl has all of the time in the world ok
love (whatâs her love language)- gift giving! pushing the ice queen trope, i think mina is aware people see her as colder or more closed off so sheâs actually scared youâll think she doesnât like you because she isnât being as affectionate. in return, sheâll spoil you rotten. every thing that reminds her of you, even the tiniest bit, she gets it.
memory (whatâs her favourite memory together)- iâll say introducing you to her members. because theyâre such a big part of her life, she waits with it until she thinks youâre really the one. her parents have met you before twice lol. anyways, the small twinkle in your eyes as you chatted shyly with her members, holding her pinky with your for mental supportâthatâs her core memory
nighttime (how does sleeping with her look like)- you two just sleep on your assigned sides of the bed. one way or another youâll get entangled during the night, but neither you nor mina mind falling asleep while laying side by side.
oddity (whatâs one quirky thing about her)- i think ballet is very quirky. years of practice, she subtly pokes your side every time youâre not standing straight. she just doesnât want you to get back aches tho :((
pet names (what does she like to call you)- the most cute, tooth rotting names and iâm not even joking.
quality time (how does she like to spend time with you)- youâre playing minecraft and/or animal crossing with her, end of discussion
rush (does she rush into things)- nope. as i said before, she has to get used to you. you were the one to ask her out so she has to get to know you on that level now, then get to know the other you while you slowly warm up to her too
secrets (how open is she with you)- not very open. through your relationship, she slowly unravels her secrets to you, but it takes time and you have to be patient with her.
time (how long did it take her to confess)- you asked her out, so thereâs that. but confess her love? man iâm gonna say a couple years lol
upset (whatâs her reaction when youâre upset)- if youâre upset after a fight, sheâs upset too and then she just apologises the next day, tired of sleeping in bed without you. other than that, sheâll be surprised and try to immediately console you
visibility (is she afraid of the public opinion)- not really. if youâre in love, she doesnât see your relationship as something the public has a say in
warrior (how often do you fight)- only when youâre tired after work. and itâs stupid stuff too. you placed your shoes on the spot she usually uses so you two banter about it for two minutes until youâre both in bed, laughing about how stupid that was
x-ray (is she able to read you)- yes! someone has to bffr. mina knows you like the back of her hand lol
yes (how would she propose to you)- remember the dates when you come home early and cook dinner? she takes a day free and when you get home early for your date, she surprises you by taking you out to a fancy restaurant instead. sheâs so nervous too đ but youâll say yes, right?
zen (what makes her feel calm)- playing games with you! stressed mina will absolutely drag you to your pc room (because you do have that) and sit you down with her to build a cute house in minecraft
part of [the fluff series]
#mina#myoui mina#myoui mina x reader#mina x reader#twice#twice x reader#twice mina#nayeon#jeongyeon#momo#sana#jihyo#dahyun#chaeyoung#tzuyu#kpop gg x reader#kpop gg#gxg#wlw#fxf#men dni#female idol x reader#fem reader#fem x fem#kpop idol x reader#idol x reader#kpop x reader
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
Iâm so sick of seeing people condemn political discourse on this site regarding Trump and Project 2025 because âBiden isnât any betterâ, âlibs are fearmongering about Project 2025â, âBiden is just as bad, we need something more drasticâ and yeah! We need more drastic change! The U.S. is fucking rotten to the core and it needs to be gutted and rebuilt into something that actually works! But not voting, or encouraging people not to vote for Biden isnât that.
Weâre facing a very real threat as we move into the election this year, and not just for America. So many countries and events around the world are affected by the U.S. elections, including domestic policy. Project 2025 is an especially dangerous possibility for those of us living is this country, and we need to start by actively fighting against it. Even if moves are made to enact it outside of the presidency, we need to start that fight by keeping Trump out of office. Not voting is handing him the keys to the office.
And as much as I would like to vote for a viable third party thatâs not within the two party system, that historically has lead to landslide victories. Either the Democrats split their vote and loose, or the Republicans split their vote and loose. Unless I see a massive consensus or organization to elect a third party, I cant run the risk of letting Trump back in. The fascists supporting Trump wonât be splitting their vote; we canât take that same risk. We need a united front to push back.
Talking about Project 2025 is not fearmongering, we are in real danger. Encouraging people to vote is not complacency, we are shutting out a hostile takeover. Biden is not good, but he is not the same as Trump. Biden is bad, but Trump and Project 2025 are out for blood and power.
I wonât be shutting up about U.S. politics or the election until this is decided. This is one of the most dangerous votes that weâve seen in the recent past, and we cannot treat it lightly. This is the difference between working towards progress, and condemning many to either death or mass exodus.
Please vote. Your life may depend on it.
201 notes
·
View notes
Text
FINE.
The date is fast approaching (seven and a half weeks left), I've had sufficient quantities of Malbec, and I'm realizing that whoever suggested that writing my vows would be MUCH more harrowing than talking about my feelings to internet nobodies.....had a fair point; I should at least attempt to put it all to words before I write the real drafts.
Ugh.
I should probably start by stating that I'm WELL aware of who I am. Rest assured, I know that I'm stunningly abrasive. And controlling. And petty, conniving, misanthropic, or whatever other adjectives you've been calling me in the tags (yes, I DID read those, and it IS weird of so many of you to be calling for my divorce. I thought you were supposed to be nicer than I am?).
All this to say, I've always been cognizant of being an acquired taste. Partly because I've always BEEN an acquired taste. I tone it down in public, and in most of my personal relationships, but I am, down to my core, a Mean Mother Fucker.
With partners before my fiancé, I had to make myself more palatable to stay together. The men I dated were FAR too nice, and snipping with them at all felt like I was a heavyweight champion facing off against a toddler. So I reigned it in. It worked, but no matter how well things were going on paper, I didn't feel like I was myself with any of them.
I was even less myself with The Shithead. I'm NOT getting into the entirety of that particular tire fire here, you little freaks already know FAR too much about me and I won't have you tagging the gory details of the worst part of my life with #bob the builder/fuzzy wuzzy or whatever you're into.
He was horrible to me, I turned dangerously timid, I'm lucky I had enough Mean left in me to get the fuck out. He's changed enough by now that I considered inviting him to the wedding, it was bad enough back then I'm very glad I didn't. Enough said.
...I'm talking quite a bit up here because I still hate having to say any of the next part. Call me an emotionless villain for that if you want to, I am far too employed and 30 to care very much.
Ugh, ugh, ugh.
So.
The thing is, there are people that KNOW me, and there are people who LIKE me. My parents know me, and I've never doubted they love me, but that's not LIKING me as a person. That's a contractual obligation of birthing me. My friends like me, some even like me when I'm catty, but I need to be careful to hold myself back, at the risk of losing them. At best, people loved "me", not ME.
For decades, this was just the way the world was. It was a fact of life- The sky is blue, I'm secretly unlovable, the Earth goes around the sun.
And then, against all odds, I found my fiancé, who manages to do both.
He sees ALL of me. Every square inch, every fleeting thought, every horrible little quirk of my rotten personality. And THEN, as if that weren't bad enough, he turns around and ENJOYS it all. He's not just tolerant of my least palatable traits, he's delighted. The more I show him, the more he likes.
It's awful. I'd say he stole my heart, but that sounds too pleasant. It's more like my heart is a cockroach he could squish at any moment, and I trust him not to, and I'm just supposed to wake up every morning and do the dishes and go to work as if this doesn't mean we're clearly orbiting Saturn. The sky is PURPLE now. What the fuck.
He could at least do me the favor of being completely, 100% perfect, because then I could blame his total lapse in judgement on that, but NO. He's a BASTARD.
I'm engaged to a big sweaty idiot who annoys me on purpose. He's terrible with his money. He tries to take me on HIKES, and JOGS, and CAMPING TRIPS. His taste in every single art form known to man is GARBAGE, he's constantly leaving his dirty socks on the floor, and he's such a bad driver I'm amazed he still has a license.
I've told him all of that to his face, and I've MEANT it, and he's just called me a bitch and asked me what I want for dinner. He knows that I'm unlovable, agrees that all those parts of me are in here, and then loves me anyway.
He loves me. He LOVES me. He loves ME.
I don't know what I'm meant to do with it all, but there's clearly SOMETHING wrong with his brain, so I guess I'll have to keep him, if only for his sake.
287 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello :) Can you do some Johnny and Kenshi headcanons with a s/o who is deeply insecure but hides it very well? I love ur writing omg
It's hard for you to believe Kenshi is actually interested in you. When you compare yourself to him you seem so bland and inadequate
You hold a deep guilt for being with him. Surely he deserves someone better, stronger. Someone who can actually be worth something
But Kenshi doesn't want anyone else. He wants you and you alone. He cares not for other's attempts at flirtations, he is loyal to you down to the core
Your insecurities are kept very hidden but Kenshi can't help but sense something is amiss
He'll approach the subject but you are very closed off and deny these accusations with a smile but Kenshi cannot help but hold onto those doubts
Kenshi learns, however, that a direct confrontation is not the way to go about these thoughts
Instead he makes sure to provide you as much love as possible. He speaks with his actions more than he does with his words
He will do everything he can to make you feel loved and appreciated
You are in shock that Johnny Cage is seriously interested in you. It makes no sense at all. These fun loving partygoing actor wants you? Why? It's hard to understand it
But damn is he happy around you and he spoils you rotten
You feel as though you don't deserve this treatment and, when you're alone, you really let that guilt eat at you
Johnny, however, has nothing but love for you. You're the highlight of his day and he speaks very fond of you with everyone. He truly thinks you are amazing
Sometimes he notices your slight change in demeanor when he brags about you to others and he thinks maybe the bragging embarrasses you so he tells you that people should hear about you because you are just so amazing
You end up confiding in him your insecurities and he feels like a complete moron for not seeing it
He's sweet though, call you babe, baby and every pet name in the book.
You would be scooped up in his arms and given kiss after kiss followed by his words of adoration and how lucky he is to have you
#mortal kombat#mk1 2023#mortal kombat fanworks#mortal kombat headcanons#mortal kombat x reader#mk1#johnny cage x reader#johnny cage#kenshi takahashi#kenshi x reader
451 notes
·
View notes